


For Friends

by yoshizora



Category: Xenoblade Chronicles 2
Genre: Canon Rewrite, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-31
Updated: 2018-03-31
Packaged: 2019-04-16 05:27:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,966
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14157783
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yoshizora/pseuds/yoshizora
Summary: Of the things friends do for each other.(an alternate take of that one scene from Chapter 6, in which Mòrag stays put and Nia has no other choice)





	For Friends

**Author's Note:**

> in retrospect, Niall was such a dumb mofo. why'd he run out of Aegaeon's barrier??

Thinking is a difficult thing in the moments between each breath and each blink. The human mind can only rationalize things so quickly no matter how honed it is— everyone makes mistakes.

Within those fleeting seconds that become drawn out in the haze of adrenaline, thinking only becomes a little easier.

But for some, not easy enough.

The explosion is _loud._ The decibels alone would have shattered their eardrums if it wasn’t for that resilient barrier that had been hastily drawn up between everyone and Bana, but their heads still ring and everything is fuzzy around the edges for a bit. Nia looks to her left, where Dromarch is hunched over on the floor. He looks up to her, his muzzle wrinkled in discomfort (the noise must have hit him badly, with his sensitive ears), mouthing out concerned words that she can’t hear through the deafening whine that drowns out even her own thoughts. But, she’s fine. Not a scratch. Nia nods to him in reassurance and Dromarch visibly exhales in relief.

Dust is settling. The barrier is down.

Then, a terrible wail breaks through the ringing in her ears. Nia’s head snaps up and she immediately turns to Rex and Mythra, but they’re also fine— Rex’s eyes are wide and Mythra is covering her mouth with both hands.

Slowly, Nia’s gaze follows their line of sight. Her stomach curdles.

Mòrag is stumbling over to a… to…

Oh.

“Niall Ardanach,” Queen Raqura speaks, just loud enough for everyone to hear through the harsh ringing that lingers in all their heads. “You… _why?_ ”

Then Nia’s head is spinning even more violently than before as she takes in the sight of his body, bloodied and charred and violently thrown by the force of the explosion, his clothes in tatters and all that shrapnel—

That wailing. It was _Mòrag._ No one steps forward as she drops to her knees before the Emperor, her entire body shuddering with shock and grief. There’s a clatter on the floor nearby. His Blade had returned to his Core Crystal. No one’s _doing_ anything. Why isn’t anyone _doing anything?_

But… no one _can_ do anything. He’s dead. Aegaeon’s dull Core Crystal is proof of that. He’s dead and nothing can be done. Yet Mòrag is still holding him and calling his name as if he’d wake up in spite of his terrible wounds with such a raw vulnerability so unlike her that the bile keeps moving up Nia’s throat until she feels as though she’s going to vomit.

He’s dead. Mòrag’s voice sounds muffled and tinny like she’s underwater. Her heartbeat is thunder in her ears as Nia watches the mighty Flamebringer desperately shake him, trying to find any semblance of hope that he could awaken.

The words keep going in circles like persistent flies that can't be slapped away. He's dead. He's dead.

“Dromarch,” Nia hears herself saying, feeling as though she’s a thousand peds away. What _is_ she saying? What is she doing? “Get the others out of here. Distract them.”

Dromarch is puzzled for a moment, then his eyes widen with alarm. “My Lady, you surely can’t mean…”

“Just do it. There’s still time.”

He still looks unsure, but he bows his head in acquiescence. All eyes that had been stuck on Mòrag and the dead boy in her arms turn to Dromarch when he yells out, already stepping away towards the hangar exit. “Everyone! It’s Bana— he had gone this way!”

“Bana?” Zeke whips around, eye dark. “How’d he survive— nevermind! Are you sure it was him, Dromarch?!”

“I’m certain! We must hurry, before he escapes!”

“Then…” Rex swallows heavily and turns to follow Dromarch, unable to look at Mòrag any longer. “Yeah, c’mon. We can’t let him get away with this!”

Nia remains where she is, watching their backs as they run after Dromarch. Then, Queen Raqura and her retainers leave after casting one more pitying glance at Mòrag, and only Brighid is left. But she isn’t getting any closer to Mòrag. Nia points in the direction where Dromarch had led everyone.

“ _Go._ You need to catch Bana. Catch him for Mòrag’s sake.”

Brighid hesitates far too long, but she finally nods and runs off as well, too shocked to question Nia or argue with her.

The hangar feels a hundred times larger than it is. Slowly, still numb, Nia approaches Mòrag and crouches beside her. She can’t look at Niall. The wounds from the explosion… Mòrag suddenly raises her head and turns her face to Nia.

She’d never seen Mòrag so utterly devastated.

“He jumped out of the barrier,” she slowly says, her voice trembling. “I should have stopped him… or jumped out myself…”

“Don’t be stupid. Then what, you would’ve died in his place?” Nia winces at the callousness of her own words. She swallows back the lump in her throat and shakes her head, but that only makes the ringing worse. “Bana’s still out there. He needs to answer to his crimes.”

“—I won’t leave Niall!” She cries out with such ferocity that Nia is taken aback. Mòrag holds the body closer to herself, blood staining her white gloves.

“Mòrag…”

Time is trickling between her fingers like all those other lives she could have saved but _didn’t._ Her sister. Her father. Vandham. The countless Drivers Torna had killed while Nia did nothing to stop them. Lives beyond her grasp, lives _within_ her grasp— and the Emperor is right here, faint traces of his ether yet to completely leave him.

She grabs Mòrag’s shoulders and shakes her with a frantic urgency but she’s no longer looking at Nia, instead staring down with that horrible, horrible vacancy in her eyes, like she’s nothing more than a helpless child. Nia chokes.

“Go. Just _go._ Please. I’ll keep an eye on him.”

“No.”

No, no, _no._ She can’t do it with Mòrag right here to be witness to it all, to know her secret. Nausea is striking her in waves with all that fear of being what she is, who she is—

Mòrag is silently weeping.

For a split second Nia sees herself, weeping over her sister.

“Fine!” She spits, pushing at Mòrag and wresting her arms away from Niall, to put his body back on the floor. “Stay here if you want! Just shut up then, okay?! Shut up and let me save him!”

“Wh- what?”

No longer she thinks, only _does_ , as the Emperor had probably done when he had foolishly jumped out of the safety of Aegaeon’s barrier to tackle Bana. A cooling warmth washes over Nia, unfamiliar after spending so long hiding her true form, and she does her damnedest to pretend like Mòrag isn’t gaping at her as she sets right to anchoring the remnants of Niall’s ether to restore him.

“Nia… you’re a…”

She can feel Mòrag’s eyes slowly moving down to her tainted Core Crystal.

“ _Please_ , Mòrag. Not now. I can save him, you— just _shut up_ , will you? I need to focus.”

Much to her relief, Mòrag doesn’t say anything more. Nia glances at her and can see a glimmer of hope beneath all the suspicion and disbelief and grief and _anger_ , and that’s good enough for now. One by one, those grisly wounds smooth over as Nia works in silence. Mòrag tries to help pick some of the shrapnel away, but Nia swats at her hands each time.

Then, finally, Niall stirs and blearily opens his eyes as if he’s only waking up from a nap. He’s still awash in the gentle glow of Nia’s healing energy, but she nods to Mòrag when she gasps and looks to her. _He’s alright, now._

Mòrag cries and pulls her brother up into a tight hug. Nia’s head is no longer ringing.

 

* * *

 

Everything that comes after that is a blur, but like the dust from the explosion, it all gradually settles down. Everyone is skeptical when they return to the hangar to find the Emperor without a scratch on him. Brighid in particular seems awfully suspicious when she looks between Mòrag and Nia, but her relief is too overwhelming and no one wants to think too hard about the miraculous feat Nia had apparently performed. Skepticism quickly turned to relief and joy. Mòrag’s brother is alive and well, and that’s all that matters.

Bana remains missing. Zeke swears he had seen him jumping into the Cloud Sea, but in the blinding light cast by the wonder of Niall’s resurrection it quickly becomes forgotten and they head back to the inn, while Mòrag and Brighid stay behind on the battleship with Niall.

To Nia’s surprise and mild anxiety, they catch the group at the port in the morning. Mòrag declares that she would continue to accompany them by the orders of the Emperor himself.

Their eyes had met for a split second as she spoke to Mythra and Rex. Mòrag’s face was unreadable, and Nia pretended to be distracted with picking imaginary bugs out of Dromarch’s fur.

They all board the ship together and retire to their cabins. Just when Nia prepares to flop onto the bed in the cramped room, there’s a knock at the door. She doesn’t even need to look to know who it is.

“… My Lady,” Dromarch quietly says, nodding once. “You do have to speak to her eventually.”

“I _know._ ” Instead of flopping onto the bed, Nia sits at the edge. She runs her hands over her face and sighs. “She couldn’t have waited until we’ve napped a bit, though?”

Dromarch simply shakes his head and calls out before Nia can: “Come in, Lady Mòrag. The door is unlocked.”

Brighid isn’t with her, is the first thing she notices. Mòrag awkwardly stands in the doorway, hands neatly folded behind her back as they always are when she isn’t wielding her weapons. She looks to Dromarch, then to Nia, the tension in the air failing to escape her notice.

“I… didn’t get a chance to thank you properly, Nia.”

“Don’t mention it.”

“You saved the Emperor’s life,” Mòrag softly says. “You saved _my brother’s_ life. Nothing I can do will ever be able to repay you—“

“The one thing you can do is keep your mouth shut.” The words tumble out of her mouth before she can stop them, harsh in her throat. Nia’s eyes are burning; she quickly wipes the back of her hand over them, and tries to steady her tongue. “Sorry, I…”

“Forgive my Lady for her brusqueness,” Dromarch speaks up. “As you can probably imagine, she has some reservations about revealing her true nature to others.”

“ _Some reservations_ ,” Nia repeats with a snort, crossing her arms.

“I understand.” Mòrag pauses. “… No, I wouldn’t understand. In my lessons, as I was growing up, I was taught that Flesh Eaters are an abomination and must be neutralized. I… must admit, when my eyes first set upon the impurities of your Core Crystal, I…”

“You were disgusted, yeah?” Nia lets herself drop backwards and stares up at the ceiling, her arms still tightly folded. “Maybe I’m disgusted too, every time I look at it when I undress or bathe.”

Mòrag is silent for an uncomfortably long moment, and Nia half-hopes she’ll just leave it at that and leave. But she doesn’t. Of course she doesn’t. She hears her footsteps moving across the carpet and coming to a stop in front of her, but Nia refuses to tear her eyes away from the ceiling.

“May I sit with you?”

“Sure, doesn’t bother me.”

The bed shifts. Nia lifts her head. Mòrag is hunched over with her elbows resting on her legs, her gaze focused down on her fists. She’s got on a new pair of gloves, freshly white, the other ones that had been stained by Niall’s blood likely thrown away.

“Reporting you to the Praetorium would be the last thing I would ever do, Nia. I won’t reveal your secret to any of our friends either, if that’s what you’d prefer.”

Hesitantly, Nia props herself up on her elbows to get a proper look at Mòrag’s back. Dromarch is sitting by the door; he patiently blinks at her.

“You didn’t tell Brighid?”

“Not even Brighid.”

“She must’ve been awful curious about how I brought His Majesty back to life, though.”

“Yes, her interrogation was… frightful.” Her back heaves once, with a short exhale of laughter. “Brighid is keen. She had her suspicions about you, but I would neither confirm nor deny any of her theories.” Finally, Mòrag turns to Nia, the corners of her mouth twitching into something of a regretful smile. “She also asked if you could fix the crack in Aegaeon’s Core Crystal.”

“… Dunno, maybe,” is all she says with a shrug.

It hardly seems like long ago that Nia had been standing before Mòrag as a captured prisoner, then fighting her and Brighid alongside Rex and Tora. What a frightening shadow Mòrag had cast. Before Rex had come up with that plan with the water tower, a small part of Nia had been pessimistically certain that they would all be thoroughly defeated and their journey would have come to a preemptive end right there in Torigoth.

She had hated the Special Inquisitor. Truly hated her. She hated her unwavering confidence and steady glare and all that imperial authority she emanated like the flames she wielded. And Nia _still_ didn’t like her by the time they had reached the Leftherian Archipelago together, though that defiant hatred had simmered down by then.

Now, here they are. Nia had seen her weep and watched her cling to her brother’s dead body like it was a lifeline. She’s just a human like the rest of them.

“Pyra and Mythra are the only other ones privy to My Lady’s secret,” Dromarch says. “She would trust them with her life. I hope she can trust you to the same extent as well, Lady Mòrag, Flesh Eater or not.”

“Of course,” Mòrag quickly says, like she’s appalled at the mere implication of the idea that she would tell anyone else. “I admire your dedication to protecting her, but I can assure you I would never bring any form of harm to my brother’s savior.”

Dromarch huffs through his nose. He might be smiling. “Pardon me. I do have my role to play here.”

“And she is my friend.” Mòrag turns back to Nia. “… We are friends, are we not?”

“You even need to ask?” Nia snorts. “I saved the Emperor for _you_ , Mòrag. I couldn’t stand to see you blubbering like that.”

“Then I apologize for that unsightly display.”

Nia squints. “I can’t tell if you’re kidding or not.”

To that, Mòrag merely shrugs with one shoulder. Nia exhales through her teeth and properly sits upright. Mòrag doesn’t have her coat or any of her armor pieces on. She looks smaller, somehow. Vulnerable, too.

_Human._

Unconsciously, Nia’s hand goes up to touch the Core Crystal hidden beneath her clothes. “I know what it’s like to lose family. That’s all.”

There’s a pause. She half-expects Mòrag to ask about it, but she doesn’t, and Nia doesn’t know what to say now.

“My condolences.”

Somehow, that’s worse than some nosy questions. She grips the cloth over her crystal as if she could tear it right out of her chest. “It was a long time ago.”

“I understand if you’d rather not speak of it.”

A part of her wants to talk about it. Badly. She had hardly even discussed it with Dromarch when it was just the two of them, and she had never shared any of the finer details with anyone from Torna either. But the words can’t seem to form on the tip of her tongue and she gives up too soon.

Mòrag stands. Nia almost wants to tell her to sit back down.

“Again… thank you, for saving Niall,” she says. “He won’t breathe a word of it to anyone as well.”

“We trust you both,” Dromarch says.

She’s moving to the door already. Nia is watching her back as she leaves, then for the second time in just a couple days, she acts without thinking. She crosses the room in just a couple strides and grabs Mòrag’s sleeve, stopping her before she’s even got a hand on the doorknob.

“… I’m glad you’re sticking with us.”

Mòrag smiles down at Nia. The smile she wears is weary but genuine, a far cry from her serious frowns and blandly polite poker faces.

“You’re a fine friend, Nia. I hope that someday you’ll be able to reveal yourself to the others with neither fear nor hesitation, but until that day comes, your secret will be well-guarded.”

She leaves, and it’s just her and Dromarch in the cabin now. Nia stands there for a while, dumbly staring at the closed door. Dromarch gently nudges her with his head. “My Lady?”

“If… if she’d found out about _me_ , back when the Imperial Army captured us in Torigoth,” Nia says, her hand back over her Core Crystal once more. “You think she would’ve handed me over to the Praetorium?”

She doesn't know why the thought occurs. Bygones are bygones, and the bygones that hadn't even happened carry even less weight. But she remembers that flicker of revulsion that had passed over Mòrag's face through her tears when she had seen Nia's Blade form for the first time. For some reason, it's easier to visualize that than anything else from that moment.   

Dromarch hesitates. “Would those hypothetical thoughts make any difference? She _is_ on our side.”

“I know, I know.” For the first time since the explosion had been triggered in the hangar, Nia allows herself to smile. Maybe she ought to stop thinking so hard about it after all. “You're right, we’re friends. That’s all that matters now.”


End file.
